Live Without You
by Shigure111
Summary: HP/SS - Harry describes all the ways he "hates" Snape. Nothing racy, rated T to be safe. very short


**Title:** Live Without You

**Author:** Angelina Carillo (Shigure111)

**Summary:** HP/SS - Harry describes all the ways he "hates" Snape.

**Disclaimer: **All Harry Potter characters belong to JK Rowling, not me.

�

**Live Without You**

I hate you. 

I hate everything about you.

I hate the way you walk so elegantly, every step so confident, long reaching strides that seem so unfitting for a man of such an arcane existence. I hate how you look down on me, your eyes burning into mine as you just barley spare a passing glance, never to stray too far from your pedestal on which you sit in such an illustrious manner. And your eyes, those eyes, so dark, fathomless, almost lacking color, and vibrancy altogether, just lost souls, empty and void of any feeling, any life, save the few times they glitter with acrimony when you're particularly angry with me. I hate the way your long dark robes billow out behind you, your ever loyal train of shadow, as you wisp away. I hate the way you bind yourself in tidy clothes, black like your soul, and the neat rows of buttons that are the bane of me. I hate how your porcelain skin is forever plagued by deep frowning lines of anger, only disappearing on rare occasion when a condescending smirk is requisite, replacing the usual scowl. And I hate those lips, your mouth, a damn behind which swells a lake of cynicism and hostility that slowly leaks at the touch of a nerve and finally breaks at the very end of your patience. Then comes your voice, like velvet thunder, penetrating, and compelling enough to let me know I've stepped too far. I hate your control over me.

I hate it when you correct me in class and I despise the fact that you're always right. Your words are spoken so eloquently it's frightening and your sarcasm pierces me. I hate how you brood at your desk, and I can't stand the way your ebony hair falls over your face strand by strand as you concentrate harder and harder while you loom over your work. I hate watching your experienced fingers on a harshly used hand scratching obviously failing grades on students' papers, those fingers that so frequently point blame at me for reasons I can't begin to apprehend. I hate your presupposition.

I hate it when no matter where I go you seem to be there hovering over me like the dispiriting granite cloud you are, just waiting to dampen my spirits, rain on my parade, flood it, engulf it, wash it away entirely. And when the rain stops and I am left, vulnerable, stuck in the mud that is your aversion, just when I get used to the cold and wet, the dark despondence, you burn me with the sun, blind me with a supercilious light; you're like an apocalypse, a cataclysmic event, one storm after another and always to a new degree of intensity. I hate your stormy weather.

I hate how the only time you ever voluntarily speak is while harsh words fall upon my ears, and when you've finished your diatribe, silence overtakes you. It's unfair that you assert your inner most anguish towards me and rarely speak a whisper to anyone else. I hate how you think I deserve this torture and everyone else around have not the honor to be graced by your vociferation.� I hate how you drift through the world, as ghosts do; sometimes pretending people around you don't exist, sometimes telling yourself you don't exist. Your very presence extinguishes the air form the atmosphere, this chip on your shoulder that some call loneliness spreads like a disease throughout a room and leaves everyone in it with a feeling of desolation, sharing for just a moment in your own feelings alienation, then to have it fade into the gloom. I hate how enigmatic you are.

I hate it when you leave this place to go and do your-so called spying for us. I hate that I can't trust you, I don't think, but maybe…just maybe I can. I hate how you toy with my emotions, tearing me in two with this charade you seem to think is heroism, while at the same time, your loyalties may lay elsewhere, or not; I can never tell. But even so, it's unfair that you should be the one who gets to run off and play hero while I'm stuck here with nothing but a lightning shaped reminder of the affliction of the world, of the hate and greed and the sickness that it causes. It seems no matter how hard we try, evil encroaches on the world like vines around a tree, leeching onto it, squeezing it tighter and tighter, and sucking the life from it as it slowly dies. I hate how you're leaving again soon, 

but what I hate most of all is the fact that I'm afraid if you don't come back this time,

I won't know how

to live without you.


End file.
